Performer
by Josie-electric
Summary: A bit of Howince fluff and maybe more.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey so this story will hopefully just be a bit of Howince fluff but who knows what could happen later. This is my first fic so I hope it's not terrible ...**

**Disclaimer: The Mighty Boosh does not belong to me. It belongs to the gorgeous Julian Barratt and Noel Fielding.**

--

_I'm your electro nightmare_

_Bright clothes, black hair_

_My suit is sparkly silver_

_I'll trap you with my piercing glare_

Vince was in his element. A new band, another first gig and he could tell that the crowd were enjoying themselves. He was proud of the lyrics. He'd written them himself in an attempt to appear darker, he was going for yet another new look ... although he wasn't quite sure what it was yet. All he knew was that 'dark' was almost certainly going to be favoured in the next issue of 'Cheekbone'. The song ended almost too quickly and the band was brought to the end of their set. Vince turned around to give the thumbs up to the rest of the band, they were obviously pleased but a little confused at Vince's over-excitement. Of course this was one of the first gigs he had been involved with where something hadn't gone wrong. There was the time Howard was possessed by the Spirit of Jazz ... and the time Vince himself had started scatting... He didn't mind that they didn't share his enthusiasm though, because he was happy.

--

Vince bent down to get the key from under the doormat - he wasn't trusted with his own one - and tried to open the door quietly. Shutting it softly, he tip-toed up the stairs so as not to wake Howard (he knew that Naboo and Bollo would still be out DJ-ing) and crept almost silently into bed. Sleep came fairly quickly and he slipped into dreams of angry flowers and horror stories written on books made of cheese, for double the nightmares. The kind of dreams only Vince Noir could have.

--

Howard woke up. He felt calm and sleepy, all he wanted to do was stay in bed all day and listen to his jazz records. Maybe he could finish the book he was reading. As usual though, Howard doubted he would be able to get that kind of peace and quiet. He heard a knock on his door, confirming his thoughts and without waiting for an answer, Vince bounded into the older man's room.

"HowardHowardHoward!"

"Yes, Vince?" Howard replied through a yawn.

"Last night was AMAZING! You should have been there."

"You wouldn't let me come, remember? Said I would 'cramp your style'."

"Oh. Sorry, Howard. Well you should come next time, yeah? Tonight at the Velvet Onion."

"Mmhm ok. Now get out my room."

Howard _was_ happy that Vince's gig had gone well but he was too tired to be enthusiastic about it, he never understood how the smaller man could stay out all night and still have enough energy for both of them in the morning. Then do it all again the next night. Howard stretched his arms out and decided that since he was up now and wouldn't be able to get back to sleep, he'd pick up the phone next to his bed and dial Lester Corncrake's number. Answer machine.

"Please leave your message after the beep."

"Hi, it's Howard. Yeah, um, can't make Miles Davis Night tonight .. got something more important to do."

He'd probably never admit it to Vince but he loved watching the smaller man on stage, he looked powerful and in control. Although Vince was already confident, the added element of him being on stage meant that he was cockier and a little more manly, making Howard feel a bit ... vulnerable around him.


	2. Chapter 2

**I know this has taken FOREVER and I'm sorry, everything's just been piling up and I've also had really bad writer's block .  
**

**Thank you for the lovely reviews of the last chapter, though :)  
**

**Anyway, here's a new chapter. I might leave it here, depending on if I can find a way to move it on.**

**Finally, the Mighty Boosh does not belong to me.**

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"What's up, Howard?"

"Oh. Um … nothing. Heyy uh, looking forward to tonight?"

"It's gonna be genius!" His pointy face lit up for a second at the prospect of his gig at the Velvet Onion but the sparkle quickly faded. "But what if last night was a one-off? The one thing that never goes right for me is this. Think about it, Howard. Every single time we've tried to break into the music business, nothing's ever come out of it."

"We've had fun though, haven't we?" Howard replied with a smile, punching Vince playfully in the arm. He didn't like Vince to have doubts – his head was meant to be full of sparkles and soft fabrics. "And anyway, last night went well because you were good and they liked you."

"You weren't even there."

"But I will be tonight. Be confident and if you feel nervous, just look at me."

It wasn't often that Howard showed a softer side. He was the man with the pent up anger, the man who gave himself Chinese burns when he thought no one was looking; but he had to look after Vince. They had to look after each other. While sometimes the most that was needed was a bit of friendly teasing - occasions arise when you need to drop your guard and make sure your friend is alright.

"Okay." Vince smiled sweetly. He was never upset for long.

---

Howard stood outside the Velvet Onion and stared at the entrance nervously, like an underage teenager unsure about whether his fake i.d. would get him in. He looked different from everyone else. For a start, he was wearing beige and no self-respecting Camden type, the only type of people to set foot in this club, would go out dressed in beige. They probably wouldn't even stay indoors dressed in beige and this made Howard nervous. He would never usually come here without Vince but without him standing at his side, the attention could not be focused off of Howard, so his older face and odd attire were receiving unashamed stares.

"Fuck it," he thought. "I'm just here to see Vince and his band and I have the most right to be here, out of all these people." He purposefully walked through the door, pushed through the almost luminescent crowd and found a spot to the side of the stage where he could easily be seen by Vince.

The band were two songs into their set and the whole crowd were practically throwing themselves at them, eager to be noticed. Vince was strutting around the stage, having the time of his life and Howard watched in awe. He wondered why everyone was so much more charismatic when they were performing. Vince looked stronger, more confident and ... less in need of Howard. He didn't need looking after and realising this, Howard's heart was breaking. He liked looking after Vince, it made him feel useful and wanted, like he was living up to his part as a best friend. At the same time though, Vince looking all powerfull on stage made Howard ache a bit. Not for his friendship, though.

---

"How did I do, Howard? Wasn't I good?" Vince asked gleefully.

"Vince you were ... amazing up there, actually. I've never seen you so in control."

"Honestly?"

"You don't need me to tell you, were you _listening_ to the crowd?"

"Yeah, but ... I do need to hear it from you." And Howard realised Vince did still need him. A bunch of strangers praising you is one thing but it's just not the same as hearing it from your best friend. Howard placed his hand on Vince's cheek.

"Listen, little man. You have talent, don't doubt yourself." He pulled Vince into a tight hug and kissed him on the forehead, the younger man snuggling into him.

"Howard, you're amazing."

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**There you go =) **

**Comments would be lovely if you could find the time!  
**


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